


The Prize

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [62]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [62]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/763410
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	The Prize

Napoleon Solo tapped a fingernail against his last remaining casino chip, which sat alone on the edge of the roulette table. The golden chip was ostensibly worth $1000 but, in this case, it represented something other than money. He glanced across to the prize he was actually playing for.

Kneeling in the corner a battered and bruised Illya Kuryakin watched the game play out. He hadn’t been bound but two guards stood with their weapons trained on him to ensure he didn’t interfere. Illya knew the game was rigged, and that Napoleon had no chance of winning. However, he also knew that his partner would be running strategies through his mind which would get them both out.

Napoleon had been betting on Illya’s life for a few hours, after finally tracking him down to the casino based satrapy of Archie Armstrong. The Russian had been tailing Armstrong, but was discovered, and promptly captured. Napoleon had been just as unlucky when attempting his rescue but, instead of giving the agent the same treatment as his partner, Armstrong had decided to have a little fun.

Solo had been given $500,000 in chips and instructed to play roulette with them. Should Solo win, by doubling the amount, he and Kuryakin would be set free. If he lost, they would both be handed to Thrush Central. The only rule was that Napoleon couldn’t play a bet larger than $10,000. Armstrong had wanted to drag the game out for a fair while, and this was best way he could see of doing that.

Much to his surprise, Napoleon was betting much less than that. Although he didn’t want Illya to suffer any more than he already had, he needed time to think. Several strategies had gone through his mind, but none of them had been viable. He had been stripped of weapons and equipment, and he was all too aware of the guns being held by the two guards.

Napoleon picked up his final chip and weaved it between his fingers as he continued to think.

“Well, Solo,” Armstrong said, cutting into his ruminations. “Are you ready to play?”

Looking across to Illya once again, Napoleon shrugged one shoulder. To anyone else, it was a gesture of defeat. To Illya, who knew his partner well, it was a gesture which said ‘get ready’. Napoleon had exhausted all possible ideas, leaving him with just one. It wasn’t subtle, but it was all they had. They were at the point of all or nothing.

Without warning, Napoleon flung the chip straight at Armstrong’s face. It hit him in the eye, causing him to cry out. This, in turn, made his guards turn their attention towards him. It was the moment Illya was waiting for. Despite the aches and pains from several beatings, and being forced to kneel for a long time, he sprang up like a gazelle. Knowing that Napoleon would dive for the guard nearest to himself, Illya aimed for the other. Solo’s distraction had bought them more than enough time to disarm the guards and, although neither man like to kill if they could help it, they shot the three thrush men; killing them stone dead.

“It is not that I am unappreciative,” Illya commented, as he and Napoleon made their escape. “But could you not have done that sooner?”

Solo opened his mouth to call his partner ungrateful, but shut it again immediately. It was a good question.

“To be honest, Tovarisch, I think I got so bogged down trying to come up with complex strategies that I forgot that simple ones are often the best.”

Although the previous few hours had been torturous for him, Illya couldn’t help but laugh at the expression of abject desolation on Napoleon’s face. The American clearly thought he had failed.

“Do not worry, my friend,” Illya told him. “It is sometimes difficult to see the forest for the trees. If it would help to ease your guilt a little, I shall allow you to buy me dinner.”

He grinned broadly, which Napoleon couldn’t prevent himself from mirroring.

“Smart Russian.”


End file.
